


Shibari

by Ayezur



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Bondage, Canon Compliant, F/M, Femdom, Light Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Shameless Smut, can't blame this one on alina, subspace is one hell of a drug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayezur/pseuds/Ayezur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How strong and how sweet are the ties that bind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shibari

**Author's Note:**

> Still studying for exams! But also blowing off steam. With porn. That someone is probably going to judge me for. I REGRET NOTHING.

It happened like this:

Kaoru was straddling his waist, kissing a hot line down his neck – he loved it when she got like this, fierce and a little bit possessive – and he slid his hand between their bodies towards her clit, because she hadn’t even come _once_ yet and he was starting to feel like he was neglecting her.

She grabbed his wrist – and his other wrist, too, the one belonging to the hand tangled in her sweet-scented hair – and slammed his arms up over his head, glaring down at him.

“Stop,” she growled, “ _distracting_ me.”

Her eyes were deep and brilliant, almost like sapphires except that no cold gemstone could ever hold that fire.  He started to pull himself up to kiss her and she squeezed his wrists, just once, not even that hard but lightning shot down his spine and he gasped as his head hit the futon and his hips bucked.

“And _stay_ there,” she muttered.  Then she went back to his neck.  Eventually her grip on his wrists loosened until her fingers were trailing gently down his forearms, caressing him.  But he kept his hands where she’d left them until she told him to do something else, and didn’t know quite why.

~*~ 

Neither of them mentioned it until a week later, when she came up behind him in the bathhouse and slid her arms tight around his waist, resting her forehead on his shoulder.  He smiled and curled his hands around hers, lifting them up to kiss her palms.  She tasted good; she always tasted wonderful, like salt and something indescribably _clean_ as the smell after rain. 

He started to turn, the better to wrap himself around her, and she slid her hands from his to capture his wrists with a quick, fumbling gesture.  She drew them gently down and behind his back until they were almost touching.  Not forcing it; he could have broken the hold.  He just… didn’t.

She was nervous – he could tell by her heartbeat, rabbit-fast, and the quick inhale over his shoulder.

The bathing room was slightly warm, steam curling in from the tub and wetting the air, bringing out the dry-sweet scent of the cedar wood.  Sweat beaded on his skin and rolled down, tickling, and he couldn’t wipe it away.  It intensified the feeling, somehow, until it was almost unbearable.  Like a thousand light butterfly-kisses, and he _wanted_ to swipe at the prickling drops but his arms refused to move.  She was dressed and he wasn’t; he could feel the silk sticking against his shoulders where she was leaning into him.  And that seemed right, although he couldn’t say why.

There was an ache low and tight in his belly and his face heated as he fought a sudden urge to collapse against her.  She shifted until she was holding his wrists in one hand, a far looser hold and he still _wouldn’t_ break it, because he didn’t want to.  Even as he was thinking _this is ridiculous_ something deeper was sighing in relief and relaxing into her grip, something that had been tense for so achingly long that he’d never known it was in pain.

She pulled down, lightly, and the brief stretch of muscles sent a jolt of pleasure straight into his cock.  His head fell back and he panted, once, pulse jumping wildly.   She swept his hair over his shoulder and pressed an open-mouthed kiss on the nape of his neck, lips working hot and wet and he shuddered.  It was too much, entirely too much against skin made tense and tight and painfully sensitive by the heat and his vulnerability (that he’d _chosen_ , that same deep strangeness whispered: that he _wanted_ ); he whimpered at her touch, hips jerking unsteadily, and could barely keep on his feet.

“…you _do_ like this,” she said, thoughtful and surprised.  Heat crept up his face and he tried to straighten himself, the shame of it – he _was_ a man, after all – overpowering the bliss.

“So it would seem,” he managed to rasp out.  His mouth was terribly dry, and his body didn’t seem to want to co-operate and let him salvage what was left of his dignity.  “I’m sorry.” 

“Huh?”  She let go, then, and he stumbled forward a bit. “What for?”

A deep breath, and he didn’t turn around because that strange urge was still there: under all the reasons why he shouldn’t there was still the overwhelming desire to fall to his knees and offer himself to her.

“If anything, _I_ should be apologizing,” she continued, nerves jangling in her voice.  “I mean, coming in here and just grabbing you like that, it was pretty rude, even if we _are_ married – ”

“Miss Kaoru has nothing to apologize for, that you don’t,” he said automatically, still fighting with himself, with this _thing_ he hadn’t wanted to know existed.  “One only – ”

“… _Miss_ Kaoru?” Hurt tore her voice and he spun around without thinking.  She’d taken a step back, hands twisted tight in the fabric of her clothes, and her bright eyes were clouded with distress.

“No, no – ” She flinched away.  He was too quick for her and pulled her into a tight embrace, fingers tangling in her hair.  “No.  I’m not – that is, I – I just – well – it’s difficult…” He trailed off, uncertain.

“Did it – it didn’t hurt you, right?  ” she asked, slightly muffled against his chest.  “Do you not – was I wrong?”

“No,” he said quietly.  “I – it seems that I do.  Like what you did, that is.  Only it’s – ” He swallowed.  “Embarrassing.”

“Why?”  She relaxed slowly against him, her arms unfolding from her chest to wrap around him.  “It’s not _that_ strange, is it?  Just liking to have your wrists held…”

“Oro,” he muttered, splaying his hand across her lower back.  He was still dazed and twitching, still a little hot, and her soft curves pressed against him weren’t helping the situation.  “It wasn’t _only_ that…”

“What else was it?” 

 _That you were taking me_ surged up from that deep place that had only wanted to stop and let her do whatever she wished.  _That I was yours and you were claiming me and I couldn’t stop you, didn’t want to_.  But he didn’t say that: he bit the words back and held them behind his teeth, blushing furiously at the – the _weirdness_ and the shame of it, of wanting to be possessed and helpless and utterly at her mercy.

“…It’s embarrassing, and one doesn’t really – want to say,” he finally admitted, a kind of compromise.  Because he’d promised himself that there would be no more hiding, not from her, but this was raw and strange and he was afraid.  “It might – it’s very – one is – ” He tightened his grip in her hair.  “One is somewhat worried about what you might think, that I am,” he finished weakly.

“Oh.”  Her hand slid up to cup the back of his neck, drawing him down to meet her eyes.  “I guess – if you’re sure I didn’t hurt you, then I guess we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to…”

He swallowed, and the next words were incredibly hard to say.

“Do _you_ want to?” he asked, thick-tongued.

“Kind of,” she said.  “But it seems like you really don’t want to say, so…” She shrugged, the silk of her kimono dragging across his skin.  “We don’t have to.  Do you want me to not – to not grab your wrists again?”

“Yes,” He remembered the white-hot bolt ringing through his blood and shuddered, pulling her closer.  “No,” he almost gasped.  “That is – I’m not sure.”

“Then we should talk about it,” she said firmly.  Then she seemed to hear what she’d just said and flushed bright red.  “Because I – I want to make you feel good,” she muttered into his chest. “I really do – you’re always so good to me – and – but anyway, I don’t want to do anything that you don’t like.”

“You have a point, you do,” he said into her hair, and sighed.  “Give me some time?” he asked, with a touch of hesitation.  “To think, that is.”

She blinked up at him.  “Sure,” she said, playing with his hair.  “Though – does that mean we can’t – you know, um,” and she lowered her eyes, blush deepening.  “I mean, if I just don’t do _that_ , specifically, until you’ve thought about it, then we can still…”

“Oh.  Yes.”  He kissed her then, because he was terrible with words and he’d used too many of them already; he kissed her until he could barely remember what he had been trying to drive out of her head. 

“Absolutely,” he whispered when they broke apart for air, and proceeded to demonstrate.

~*~ 

And that was all, for a while: life went back to normal, or as normal as it ever was.  He’d always known himself, always understood _why_ he felt the things he did, even if he didn’t necessarily handle those feelings the best way.  Now he was feeling – something that he didn’t want to look too closely at, and wouldn’t have, except that he’d promised Kaoru and, well –

It had felt good, what she’d done.  It had felt _right_.  Which didn’t mean anything in and of itself – plenty of things could feel right and still be wrong – but he didn’t think that this was one of them.  After all, it was hardly hurting anyone or anything.  Except his pride.  He wasn’t the most worldly of men, true, but he knew what most people knew and he was fairly certain that a man in a relationship with a woman wasn’t supposed to enjoy being _taken_ by said woman.

He almost wanted to ask someone else, only he wasn’t sure who he could turn to.  The traditional teachers, as he understood these things, were friends, family, pornography or personal experience.  Sano was off wandering somewhere and not available; betraying his marriage vows was out of the question; and the only family he had of sufficient age and experience was Master Hiko… oro.  He’d sooner take his chances with the porn.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t know _what_ he was feeling.  What he didn’t know was whether or not it was… well… _normal_.  Pornography was unlikely to assist him in that regard.

So he didn’t know if it was normal, and he’d be put to some trouble to find out.  The obvious question, then, was whether that really mattered: there wasn’t much about him or his wife or their life together that _was_ normal.  She brought in an income and he cooked dinner; she managed the land and the school, and he did the laundry.  He liked it that way, if he was honest with himself.  He liked not having to worry about anything except keeping the house in order; he liked not having to be responsible for anything except her happiness.

Maybe _normal_ didn’t matter that much, not when it came to them.

“Kaoru?” he asked, about half a week after the bathhouse, before he left for his usual fishing spot.  She was stitching up Yahiko’s spare hakama.  Her student may have moved out but he was still terrible with a needle, and as much as Kaoru complained about it Kenshin knew that she didn’t mind being treated like his mother.

“Mm-hm?” She didn’t look up.  “What is it?”

“Ah – about – about the bathhouse, the other day…” He felt himself blushing as he said it and couldn’t quite look straight at her.

She put her sewing down, looking up at him.  “Yes?”

Hesitation: a little bit of anxiety, too.

“One was wondering…” He fidgeted anxiously with the fishing rod.  “That is.  One had wondered – did _you_ enjoy it?”

“Enjoy it?”  Now she was blushing, too, and her gaze skittered away from him.  “Um.  Well.  I – um.”

She was bright red with embarrassment, and he wanted to drop the fishing gear and pounce on her; she was _adorable_.  He knew from experience that her blush stopped just above her breasts, and that it was almost identical to the flush of arousal –

Oh. 

… _Oh._

Well, that certainly answered that question; he didn’t need the nod and the mumbled affirmative that she gave him a second later.

“Do you – do you think that’s odd?” she said, pressing her free hand against her cheek.  “But I did like – I’ve always sort of liked – you know, being a little in control – making you feel good… and, um, I really liked that you were just – you know, letting me…”

“No,” he said gently, smiling without quite knowing why.  “Not at all.”

~*~

That night he made sure to be in their bedroom before she was; somehow that seemed appropriate.  Kaoru came in with a yawn and a stretch that had her sleeping robe gaping open at the top, showing the soft mounds of her breasts.

“Argh, what a day!” she said, flopping down on the futon and starting to braid her hair.  “Yahiko was fuming all throughout his lessons, teaching _and_ training – something about Yutaro, I don’t know what it was.  Honestly!  You’d think he’d be able to focus, at his age.  Anyway, how was your day?”

He had to laugh, then, even nervous as he was, because he knew perfectly well what had Yahiko in such a state.  Yutaro was a handsome young man, and he’d taken to lingering outside the Akabeko to flirt with the waitresses.  Including Tsubame.

“It was fine, that it was.”  He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, his fingers trailing for a moment down her skin.  “The fish were biting.  We had one for dinner.”

“I noticed.  It was delicious…” Kaoru leaned into his touch, sighing.  “You should come over here.  I’m a little cold.” 

Her eyes were soft and hooded with invitation.   And he wanted to.  He always wanted to.  She was everything he’d ever wanted; more than he’d ever hoped to deserve.  But…

“Actually,” he said, carefully light, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”  A sudden flash of worry in her eyes, gone as soon as it appeared.

“About the, ah – about the bathhouse, and all of that.”  He took a breath.  “One – did like it.  Quite a bit.  And would – enjoy it – if you – if it happened again.  That I would.”

He’d fallen back on old formalities because this was hard enough to say as it was, and for a few heartstopping moments he thought that she hadn’t quite caught it and he was going to have to repeat himself.  Then her eyes widened and she sat up a little, combing restlessly at her braid.

“Oh,” she said, and swallowed.  “Okay.  Um.  Is – is there something else? Because…” She licked her lips.  “Because you’re acting like there’s more to it…”

She knew there was.  He knew there was.  But it was important that he say it.

“There is.”  His voice was a little steadier now, because she wasn’t rejecting anything so far, wasn’t changing her mind.  Was inviting him to keep going.  “It was not so much the, um – that is.  What one would like, specifically, is if – ”

He _really_ couldn’t say it.  So he shook his head, once, to try and clear the static from his ears.  Then he got up, rummaged in one of the closet drawers, and came back to kneel at the side of the futon, holding out a package of rope.

She looked down at it, then up at him, and her eyes were wide and gleaming in the lamplight; her soft skin glowed with it, as if she was absorbing the lamp’s radiance and giving it back to the world, touched by her essence. 

“Oh,” she said, after a long, dizzying moment.  “Alright, then.”

“Only if you want to,” he said softly.  “It’s – it’s a strange thing, so it is, and one hardly wants to – ”

“No,” she said quickly.  “No.”  Then she reached out and clasped his hand in hers, the rope between them.  “I _want_ to.”

There was something bright and intent in her eyes.  That deep strangeness was welling up again: the urge to surrender to her, to the tide of longing crashing through his veins, to _let go_ of – everything – and give himself over to her –

He didn’t fight it.  Because if there was any person in the world he could trust with his whole self, it was her.  And he wanted her to have that.  He wanted her to take him, every last part, even the frightening ones and she always had, hadn’t she?  Never once flinching, never turning away.  Turning all the dross and the horror into something bright and shining…

She slid the rope out of his hands and examined it, running it through her fingers.  He watched her, pulse pounding in his temples.  The world was slipping away with every heartbeat, leaving only him and her and the soft glow of the lantern.  He wasn’t sorry to see it go.

After what might have been minutes or hours or all of time, she draped the rope across her lap and looked up, still stroking it idly.

“So, how do I do this?”

He almost couldn’t answer her.  Was it sane to be jealous of a rope?

“How – ” He cleared his throat.  “How would you like to?” 

“I think…”  Her eyes darkened like the sky before the storm.  Something shifted in her face.  Then she reached out and tipped up his chin, pulling slightly forward so that he had to catch himself against the floor.  He shuddered, weak under the weight of her regard.  “I think I’d like you to take your clothes off, please.”

Kenshin nodded, wordless, and slid his robe off his shoulders.  She watched him with an uncommonly grave expression and his fingers shook, a little.  It wasn’t as if he’d never disrobed in front of her before – but this felt different, somehow.  Like he was presenting himself to her, making an offering of his flesh to some remote spirit, and he had a moment’s absurd fear that she wouldn’t find him pleasing.

He had to stand up to get the robe completely off; he folded it and set it neatly to one side.  Then he knelt again, because it felt right to, entirely too aware of the rough weave of the mats on his knees and the draft from the hallway.  He was shivering now, and had nothing to hide it with.

She touched his shoulder as she rose from the futon and he gasped, jumping a little.  His gut tightened with arousal and his throat dried entirely. 

“Could you fold your arms behind your back?” she asked, crouching behind him, and ran a slow finger down his spine.

He complied.

“No – holding your forearms – there,” she said, satisfied.  Then she drew the rope across his wrists, wrapping it twice around them and pulling them close together.  A shudder raced through him; heat whirled in his face, in his belly as his breath came short and sharp and aching.  His skin was new: he felt _everything_ , the rough scrape of the rope, her gentle fingers, and the contrast – the care she was taking against the way the hemp cord tore at his wrists – sent shockwaves of heat and longing through him so that he could barely hear her past the blood roaring in his ears.

“How’s that?” she asked.  He forced himself to pay attention.  “Too tight?"

He tried to pull his wrists apart, head drooping at the sweet strain in his muscles.  She’d given him quite a bit of slack.

“It could be a little tighter,” he suggested, hearing his voice waver and queerly unashamed of it. 

“Well, I don’t know how long you’ll be like this,” she said calmly, looping the long tail of the rope around his shoulders once, twice, and then tying it to itself and shifting it, so gently that it was almost torture, until the knot was centered over his back.  He shuddered again at her words, at the implication.  That she would keep him this way for as long as it pleased her, for forever – if it pleased her.

“I like your hands,” she said playfully, and pressed a kiss to the knob of his spine.  “I don’t want to hurt them.”

He thought that he should say something but all that came out was a strangled gasp, almost a whimper as his cock started to rise hot and hard.  She pulled him backwards, using the ropes as a grip, and he let himself collapse into her lap.  His legs sprawled out underneath him; he worried for a moment about how ridiculous he must look and then she slid her arms around him, down his chest and towards his groin, and all he could see or smell or hear was _her_ : she was the only thing that mattered.  Her scent, her delicate touch – god, _too_ delicate as she fluttered her fingers lightly across his ribs, down to his hipbones and he hadn’t even realized that he’d been thrusting into the air until she forced him to be still.  He turned his head, half-cradled against her arm, and mouthed wordless pleas against her sleeve.

“…are you okay?”  The playfulness was gone.  “You’ll tell me if you want to stop, right?  I don’t – I really don’t want to hurt you.”

He had to catch his breath before he could answer.

“Yes,” he managed to gasp out.  And then: “I trust you.”

Kaoru pressed her lips to his temple, arms strong and tight around him, tighter than the ropes, and he’d never felt so absolutely safe.

“I know,” she said fiercely, whispering hot in his ear.  “I love you.”

Then one hand was around his cock, stroking, and he wanted to move but she wouldn’t let him, and normally he was stronger than her but not here, not tonight: tonight he would do whatever she asked of him.

She knew by now what he needed, and she was almost giving it to him.  Long, steady pulls, thumb swiping over the head, and he panted as he tried not to thrust into her hand because she was still holding that downward pressure on his hip.  Because she didn’t want him to move.  Her breasts were soft against his back, her scent was rising – her arousal and her own, unique scent, jasmine and salt mingling – and he shook helplessly in her arms, making sounds that he should have been embarrassed to hear.  Except that every time a whimper tore ragged from his throat she would tangle the fingers of her free hand in his hair and press kisses to his jaw, caressing him as he moaned.

“Please,” he gasped out.  “Please – ”

“Please what?”  Her voice was amused – dark and rich with it and he nearly convulsed with the waves of arousal that wracked him, hearing her like that.  Then it changed tone, abruptly, and her hands started to leave him.  “Please stop?  Is it too much?”

“ _No!_ ”  If she stopped he was going to die.  “Don’t stop, don’t, just let me – _please_ – ”

If she stopped he was going to die and if she kept going like this, without giving him release, he was _also_ going to die; and it was her choice, all her choice, had always been her choice. 

“Oh,” she said, and he couldn’t see her face but he could hear her realization.  “I – ”

He heard her swallow.

“What if I don’t want you to, yet?”

And her hand was back on his cock, almost but never quite enough.  He pressed his face into her arm, nearly choking.

“Why?” he managed to plead.

“Because… I…”  Her hands were relentless, and now she was fondling his testicles as she stroked, and he still kept himself still because she hadn’t said that he could move.  “Seeing you like this…”

The rise and fall of her chest as she took a deep breath.

“You’re – really beautiful – and I want to see more of that – is that alright?”

“Kaoru…” He could barely keep the breath to speak.  It was too much, not enough, but it was what she wanted and he – he wanted whatever she wanted, he always had –

“Yes,” he said, and gave himself over to her entirely.

She kept him hanging on the edge for until he lost all sense of self or space or time, until there was only her hands and her voice murmuring low, thanking him for what he’d given her, for being so patient, so _good_ , and he held tight to that one piece of sanity as he shattered by inches in her arms.

It wasn’t until there were tears gathering in the corners of his eyes that she relented and slowly eased away, helping him sit up.  He couldn’t seem to move on his own; he leaned into her like some vital string had been cut, helpless as a broken doll.  She shifted, taking him with her onto the futon, and cradled his head to her chest as she lay back.  He pressed his nose into her collarbone, cock still throbbing hot and unsatisfied between his legs, and kissed where the soft curve of her breast rose from her sternum.

“Move down, if you please,” she said, with a note of uncertainty.  “If – if it’s still alright.”

“Yes,” he breathed, and made his way down to the core of her, cock rubbing against the sheets as he went.  The friction made him stop and writhe once or twice, but she curled her hands in his hair and pushed him gently downwards every time, before he could get enough. 

She was fragrant with arousal, dripping with it and he licked and suckled until she was bucking under him, her nails scratching at his scalp, his shoulders, and then she came, shouting his name.  He raised his head, mouth smeared with her juices, and kissed along the crease of her thigh.

“More,” she demanded, breathless.  “I didn’t say stop, did I?”

Kaoru wrapped her legs around him, pulled him down into her and he let her, burying his mouth in her the way she liked and gasping air whenever he could, dizzy with her scent and her taste and the way she pulled on his hair – lightly, then harder as she reached her climax, until she dug her nails into his skin when she came.  Again and again, as his neglected cock pulsed between his body and the futon, throbbing futilely every time she gasped his name.

Finally her legs slid off his shoulders and she drew him up to kiss him long and deep, tasting herself.  Then she let him go and he fell with his head on her shoulder, doing his best not to press his aching cock into the soft skin of her belly. 

“Alright,” she said, breathless.  “Okay.  Kenshin…”

Her hands glided over his back towards the knots that held him.  She was shaking a little; he pressed a kiss to her collarbone, proud of himself.  For pleasing her, for holding out.

“You’ve been so good,” she murmured, and undid the knots.  “ _Very_ good,” she said again, and kissed him as the ropes went slack, pulling over his skin and setting him free.  He stilled, hardly daring to breathe.  “So now…” She flipped him over on his back as his arms relaxed and kissed her way down his chest, across his stomach and his hips.  “It’s your turn.”

Her mouth closed over him, hot and wet; her tongue swirled around the shaft of his cock and the first thing he did with his freed hands was fist them tightly in the sheets, crying like a wounded thing.  Lips and tongue and hands worked him mercilessly, sucking him past any hoping of self-control and there was no way that he _couldn’t_ move –

“Kaoru!”

“It’s alright.”  Even when she lifted her head to speak her hands still curled around him, stroking him.  “Come for me.”

Her mouth, again, and he was lost.

When he returned to himself in the aftermath there were tears streaking down his face, and he didn’t have the energy to be ashamed.  He was curled against Kaoru, under the blankets; one of her hands was smoothing through his hair and the other was tight around his back, holding him close.

“Kenshin,” she said, kissing his forehead.  “Kenshin, it’s alright.  Please don’t – it’ll be alright.  I’m sorry, whatever I did – ”

“No,” he murmured, shuddering and sleepy and hollow as a drained wound.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  ‘M not sure – why I’m – ”

“Okay.” She squeezed him a little tighter.  “Okay.  You don’t need a reason.  It’s alright.”  Her hand, gentle on his forehead, on his unscarred cheek. 

“You don’t need a reason,” she said again, and he nestled into her.  The lantern had blown out.  It was dark and warm, and Kaoru was holding him tight and close and he was _safe_.  She would keep him safe, always, even from himself.

And that was how sleep finally found him: bundled in Kaoru’s arms, as she kept a watchful eye.

~*~

He woke alone the next morning, to the sound of Kaoru panicking in the kitchen.  Apparently something was burning that shouldn’t be burning.  Oh well.  It was a thoughtful gesture anyway.

She’d cleaned the room when she woke up.  The rope was gone, and the blanket had been neatly tucked around him.  He pulled on his robe and padded into the kitchen, feeling strangely light and almost resonant.  The world seemed awfully bright today, and he paused to look up at the sun for no reason other than to watch the play of light through his fingers.

“Good morning,” he said, and she started.

“Oh!  Good morning.”  She turned to face him, blushing.  “Did you – um – did you sleep well?”

He nodded.  “And you?”

“Uh-huh.”  She pried a hunk of something he initially took for charcoal off the grill.  “I thought I would make us breakfast, but – well, the fish – ”

“We don’t need the fish, that we don’t,” he said with a gentle smile, heart swelling enough to break.  “It will be a fine breakfast anyway.”

“I hope so,” she said, casting a dubious glance at the pot boiling on the stove.  He could smell from here that the soup was probably going wrong as well, but – well, Kaoru was Kaoru, and he hadn’t married her for her cooking.

“Um… Kenshin… about last night.”

“Yes?” There was such anxiety in her voice – when he felt bright and new, like something old and rotten had been washed away – that he stiffened a little.  “What is it?”

“I didn’t go too far, did I?” she blurted out.  “I mean – it’s just – I might have, well, you know, and I sort of wanted to – to see – because you were so beautiful, lying there – and – ”

She covered her face with her hands and rushed over to stir the soup, to no particular end.  He tilted his head to one side, blinking as he tried to make sense of her speech. 

Then he stepped down into the kitchen and hugged her tight, nuzzling her neck and breathing her in.  She fit perfectly against him, or maybe he fit against her.  He’d never been quite clear on that, and he thought, suddenly, that maybe it didn’t matter: what mattered was that they _fit_.

“You didn’t go too far,” he said truthfully, because there had never been a single moment of the night that he hadn’t felt cherished.  Desperate, yes, aching for release, but always, always adored.  Always safe.  “Last night was – really good.”

And that was true, too: it had been wonderful, to _not think_. To only listen and do and be, and know that he _could_ – that Kaoru would never hurt him, ever.  That he could trust his whole self to her and know that she would keep it safe.  That she would take care of him.  Always.  As he would her.

“So…” She leaned back against him, ladle in hand.  “It’s something we should do again?”

“I think so,” he said thoughtfully, skin prickling in anticipation.  “Do you want to?”

She nodded, blushing.


End file.
